


Who You Perceive Me to Be

by numbertwelvebakerstreet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Choking, Dark Will Graham, Hand Jobs, M/M, Su-zakana, Tie Kink, hannibal's bentley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbertwelvebakerstreet/pseuds/numbertwelvebakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re not alone, Will. I’m standing right beside you.”<br/>Will moves his eyes and head slowly and minutely to look at Hannibal. Then he leans over and whispers against Hannibal’s ear, “Pull over, then.”<br/>Hannibal doesn’t move except to continue steering as usual and to ask, “What about Peter?”<br/>“You seem to think Peter and I don’t need saving,” Will smiles sardonically, his lips still brushing against Hannibal’s ear, his hand now making its way firmly up Hannibal’s thigh.<br/>The corners of Hannibal’s mouth flicker upward in response.<br/>“Pull over,” Will commands quietly, drawing backward a little and sliding his hand away.<br/>Hannibal sighs gently through his nose before checking his mirrors and carefully pulling over into the snow, which crunches softly under the heavy tires until Hannibal slows to a halt and shifts into park. He leaves the key alone, opting to leave them enveloped in the heat and music issuing from the air vents and speakers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who You Perceive Me to Be

“You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss.”

“I’m  . . . trying to prevent one.”

“Do you think if you save Peter Bernardone, you can save yourself?”

“Save myself from what, Doctor Lecter?”

“From who you perceive me to be.”

“I’m afraid I need to be saved from who you perceive me to be.”

“Many troublesome behaviors strike when you’re uncertain of yourself. Peter Bernardone lies in the same darkness that holds you.”

“No,” says Will with the ghost of an ironic laugh. “I’m alone in that darkness.”

“You’re not alone, Will. I’m standing right beside you.”

Will moves his eyes and head slowly and minutely to look at Hannibal. Then he leans over and whispers against Hannibal’s ear, “Pull over, then.”

Hannibal doesn’t move except to continue steering as usual and to ask, “What about Peter?”

“You seem to think Peter and I don’t need saving,” Will smiles sardonically, his lips still brushing against Hannibal’s ear, his hand now making its way firmly up Hannibal’s thigh.

The corners of Hannibal’s mouth flicker upward in response.

“Pull over,” Will commands quietly, drawing backward a little and sliding his hand away.

Hannibal sighs gently through his nose before checking his mirrors and carefully pulling over into the snow, which crunches softly under the heavy tires until Hannibal slows to a halt and shifts into park. He leaves the key alone, opting to leave them enveloped in the heat and music issuing from the air vents and speakers.

Will clicks open both of their seat belts and then bends over double, letting his face linger teasingly close to Hannibal’s lap as he reaches for a lever on the other side of the driver’s seat. Will pulls the lever and pushes Hannibal backward with the seat, making room for himself to climb over and straddle the man face-to-face.

They go to work at the many layers of clothing separating them in between fevered touches. Through a deep, lecherous kiss, they push each other’s thick overcoats down off one another’s shoulders. Will is interrupted in trying to loosen his own scarf when Hannibal grips Will’s pelvis and grinds his own hips upward against it. Will lurches forward and clutches the firm leather sides of the seat for support as an angry moan escapes his lips. In retaliation, Will sucks, all teeth, at a spot on Hannibal’s neck until Hannibal is forced to cry out, too.

“What was it you were saying . . .” Hannibal pants after Will releases him. “. . . about what I perceive you to be?”

Will pretends not to hear as he finally slips off his scarf and begins loosening Hannibal’s tie for him.

“Is my perception wrong?” he prods further, running his hands lovingly up Will’s sides. “Are we not just alike?” And he plants a gentle kiss on Will’s throat, letting his lips linger there and part slowly, intently.

The instant Will feels teeth begin to graze his skin, he twists the partly-loosened tie violently between his fingers until Hannibal coughs and squeezes Will’s ribs in surprise. There’s just enough air passing through his lungs for Hannibal to rasp some mirth at the irony of Will’s reaction, so Will twists harder until Hannibal shuts his eyes and mouth, seeming to luxuriate in being completely cut off from air. Will yanks Hannibal’s tie upward to place the man’s ear beside his mouth again and rumbles, “I’m not a murderer,” then releases the tie altogether. Hannibal’s head slumps back against the headrest with a thud and he gasps, then resumes his wheezing laughter while unbuttoning and rolling up his own sleeves to the elbows. Will freezes, livid and ready to try strangling Hannibal with his bare hands.

“You’re not, yet,” Hannibal says after catching his breath somewhat. “But you do try.”

He runs his hand through Will’s hair and leaves it cradling his head just behind the jawline, letting Will’s cheek feel the scar still jutting from Hannibal’s wrist. Will clutches the hand in his and turns his head to brush his lips against the scar. Hannibal’s breathing grows even more ragged.

Hannibal slides the hand, still clasped in Will’s, down Will’s neck and torso until it’s palming Will’s fully blown erection over his pants. Will inhales sharply, leans into Hannibal, then gathers himself and sets both hands to work undoing Hannibal’s belt and pants, while Hannibal with unsurprising coordination uses his one free hand to do the same for Will.

When they’ve freed each other, Hannibal starts off stroking Will lightly, fingering up to the head on occasion to spread precum along his shaft. But Will immediately licks his own hand and begins pumping Hannibal hard and fast, placing his other hand firmly around Hannibal’s still sore throat. Hannibal’s breathing grows laborious and his erection swells, but he shows no other signs of disquiet, letting his hand’s pace and pressure on Will’s dick increase with a steady rhythm. Will is far from frustrated by this; in fact, he comes first with a tremor that spreads from his dick to the rest of his body, eventually forcing the fingertips of his left hand to dig mercilessly into Hannibal’s windpipe. Covered in Will’s cum and again unable to breathe, Hannibal gives in to the next few shuddering pulls Will gives Hannibal’s cock and he comes.

But Will does not relax his grip on Hannibal’s throat. Instead, he brings his spit- and semen-slick right hand to join his left in choking the life out of the doctor.

“Not yet,” Will mocks.

Too late, Hannibal senses the shift in Will’s intention and begins to grapple uselessly with Will’s desperately clinging hands. Hannibal begins to see spots, and then blacks out much quicker, much more quietly than he would have under any other circumstances, had the moment not been so perfect. He had labored these last months, nearly two years, to create for himself an equal, a likeness, in Will, and here he was, powerful and turbulent and predatory as his maker. Their relationship was consummate, their parity complete in every possible way, and Hannibal died fulfilled.

 

The next morning, what was left of Agent Crawford’s investigative team was pooled outside the barn.

“Confirm any prints?” Crawford asked.

“Bernardone’s on the social worker’s throat. And, um . . .” Zeller swallowed, the corners of his mouth tight.

“Will’s prints were all over Dr. Lecter,” Price said quietly. “Including his throat. We’ll perform autopsies, just to be sure, but it really just looks like strangulation in both cases.”

“You won’t,” Crawford said. “Bureau’s taking us off the case; too many personal connections.”

“And Will’s just gone?” Zeller asked, still incredulous.

“Without a trace,” Crawford said coldly. “Car’s still at his house, but Lecter’s is missing. Looks like they headed out here together last night.”

“And Bernardone?”

“Might be with Will; might not. We’ll see how the manhunt pans out, if it does. Will’s smart. And he had plenty of reason to relate to Bernardone. He’ll be protective of him.”

“You don’t think we’ll find ‘em?”

“It’s not my job to think about it anymore,” Crawford said curtly, and walked to his car, silently thinking that when it came down to another inquiry, because it would, he deserved whatever they threw at him.

  



End file.
